Eis Quos Amo
by savagealias
Summary: Molly Hooper is thrust into a world where lies and deceit are her life. But she does it all for the one man that she loves. Can she prove to him that she is stronger than he thinks? Sherlock x Molly. Rated M for smut in later chapters.
1. Reminiscing

**Hi all! This is my second ever attempt at writing fanfiction. I've had this little nugget festering away in my head for the past couple of months until finally it just spilt out of me this past weekend. I've written out a plot outline for this, and I would love to continue it, so if you like it (or have any constructive criticism), please review.**

**And of course, the world of Sherlock does not belong to me. It belongs to the wonderful Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and to the Trolls Supreme - Mr Mark Gatiss and Mr Steven Moffat.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly Hooper had had enough. She was sick of the lies. She was sick of the torment. It was eating her up inside. To have this secret and not be able to share it – especially with the one person she _knew_ would help her keep it (and also make him whole again)… she just didn't know how she could do it anymore.

Molly was at home, resting, contemplating everything that had happened over the past 8 months. She reflected on all of the lies, hurt and the betrayal. She didn't know how she hadn't already cracked under the pressure of it all. She was strong willed. She knew that. But every person has a breaking point. And she had just about reached hers. She also knew that by letting this secret out, it could not only potentially hurt the one person to whom this whole situation pertained to, but could possibly put herself, John Watson, Mrs Hudson… basically anyone Sherlock Holmes had a vested interest in… they could all be killed. So she stayed silent. She went about her days, playing this charade. And it was _eating her up inside._

The one person she wanted to talk to about all of this… could not be found. He couldn't be found. He was dead. And he_ was_ dead, thanks to her help.

Except… he wasn't dead at all.

Sherlock Holmes was very much alive, and hopefully, well. Thanks to one Miss Molly Hooper, Sherlock survived the fall off the top of St Bart's on that fateful day. Sherlock had come to her only a few hours beforehand, asking for her help. She could see it in his demeanour. In the _look_ that he gave her. He wasn't playing her this time. Not like all of the other times when he used her, then abused her for… well… anything, really. He was always so charming when he wanted something from her. He always flung compliments her way when he needed full use of her laboratory or procuring a body part so he could conduct his weird and wonderful experiments. Then, once he got his way, he treated her like she was nothing. No… less than nothing. Sometimes, much like he did earlier that day, he didn't even notice her at all. He even referred to her as John. Sherlock may not see her, but Molly could see him. She could see the _real_ Sherlock Holmes. She could see the sadness that the he was trying to hide from the world. Especially from the one person that truly mattered to him - John Watson. But Molly could see it. She even told him as much. She knew that she had thrown Sherlock a bit after her statement. And she wasn't going to lie. It thrilled her a little bit knowing that she had gotten to him. And it also pleased her that she had finally spoke up and showed Sherlock the true Molly. The Molly that was of strong mind, will, and was not mousy. The person she was when she wasn't around the one person that made her feel like a petulant child with a school girl crush. She did stutter and blither a little bit when she made her declaration, but she knew she got her point across.

So when Sherlock surprised her in her lab, declaring that she counted and he always trusted her, the mousiness left her and the strong willed woman rose. So when Sherlock asked for her help, she knew that she would do anything for this man no questions asked.

Well, except for one.

'What do you need?'

It wasn't really so much as a question, but a statement.

Yes, he treated her like she was less than dirt sometimes, but the man was brilliant and she was in love with him. As much as she didn't want to be and tried to deny it to herself time after time, she was. So, she did everything that was asked of her. She did it to the best of her abilities and just prayed that this little scheme of Sherlock's prevailed and she didn't end up losing Sherlock for good.

After the fall, Sherlock needed somewhere to hide and recuperate. She had offered Sherlock her place, but he refused, stating that if anyone had suspected that he had faked his death; certain people may put two and two together and come looking for her. Sherlock had declared that he had already procured a place. Not too far from her own apartment, in fact. So, she bandaged and stitched up his wounds, tended to his bruising, and helped him into a cab. They rode in silence, neither wanting to acknowledge what had transpired for them to end up where they were now.

After a short ride, they reached Sherlock's new lodgings. Molly paid the driver, quickly hopped out of the cab and ran around to help Sherlock out of the other side, but he had already managed to make his way out. Even now, he still wanted to be so stubbornly self reliant. But, even he had to admit that he needed some help. He had busted his right ankle quite badly, but he was able to put a small amount of pressure on it. Molly wanted to give him some crutches to use, but he refused, opting for a cane instead. So, with Sherlock's directions, she helped guide him up the stairs and walked him to his new front door. He handed her the keys and she unlocked it.

She didn't know what to expect when she opened the door. Sherlock only had a few hours to organise all of this. When she had the door fully opened, she glanced around and felt a pang of sadness. The place was empty and felt incredibly cold. There was a single oversized chair sitting in what she supposed was the lounge room facing the window. A rather small dining table with 2 missed matched chairs sat in the middle of the small kitchenette. Curiously though, over by the window, was a music stand with sheet music and beside that, on a small desk, was a violin. These were pretty much the only furnishings in the entire place. The walls had peeling wallpaper with a hideous pattern on it, the ceiling had a single light bulb with no shade and the floor was hardwood boards that had seen better days.

She stood in the doorway completely fixated. That was until she felt a cane in her back, pushing her forward. She quickly hopped out of the way and watched as Sherlock strode (yes, strode… even with a cane and a broken ankle he still was graceful and elegant as he limped) over to the couch by the window. He braced himself on the armchair as he sat, wincing at the pain. Molly wanted to go over and help, but at the same time she didn't want to fuss over him. She knew that was the last thing he wanted or needed, so she stood there in the kitchenette not knowing what to do or say.

Sherlock sat in his chair and stared out the window. There was a silence between them that seemed to span what felt like hours, but realistically was probably only a few minutes.

Not once did he look away from the window. His expression was forlorn and haunting.

Molly's heart broke at the sight. This poor man had just lost everything. Sherlock sacrificed everything he had to save the people that he cared about. His reputation was in tatters. His best friend thought he was dead. Molly knew that Sherlock tried to divorce himself of feeling and sentiment, but she knew something like this had to be eating away at him.

'Is there anything else you need?' Molly asked tentatively.

'I need you to keep an eye on John. And Mrs Hudson. Make sure that they're okay.' Sherlock did not look away from the window.

'Of course. Is there anything else?'

Sherlock didn't respond. He just continued to stare out the window.

Molly took that as her cue to leave. She told Sherlock that she would be back around tomorrow after she had organised a few things to change his dressings and check his wounds. Once again, Sherlock did not move or make any acknowledgement that he had heard her. With that, she made a move to leave.

'Thank you'.

It was said barely above a whisper. Molly wasn't quite sure that she even heard him.

'Wha… umm... sorry… what?' She stammered.

'I said thank you. For everything. I knew I could count on you.'

He slowly turned to look at her. His face had changed from being sad and forlorn to… she wasn't quite sure what. He had the same expression he had when he told her that he needed her in the morgue. Molly felt as if he was truly _seeing_ her. Her resolve to help this man was instantly made stronger.

Molly gave Sherlock a slow nod of her head and a small smile, turned and left.

10 minutes later found Molly in her own apartment, slumped against the door, tears streaming down her face. In the space of 24 hours, her entire life had been turned upside down. She had just helped a man (a man that she cared deeply for) destroy his entire life by helping him fake his death. Now, she had to lie to the very people he was trying to protect. She had to convince John that the one person who gave him a purpose in life was really gone. She knew that she had to attend Sherlock's funeral. That in itself was going to be a horrendous experience, she knew.

But, she made Sherlock a promise. A promise she was going to keep, no matter what the cost. She knew why he was doing this. That made her all the more resolved to help him.

With that, Molly rose from her slumped position, stood up and walked to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass.

She walked to the lounge and sat crossed legged. She sat there and thought about all of the things that she needed to do the following day. She would need to get a hold of David, her boss, to see if she could have some bereavement leave. She was owed some time off, plus David did have a bit of a crush on her, so she couldn't see there being a problem. What she was dreading though was seeing John. She wasn't much of an actress. But she knew that she had to give an Oscar winning performance to try and convince that Sherlock really was gone. She had already filled out all of the paper work with Sherlock's help. As Sherlock said 'DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep'.

She finished off her glass of wine, laid her head down on the lounge and closed her eyes. She eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day, as loathed as she was to do so, she went back to St Bart's to pick up some supplies that she would need to help Sherlock tend to his wounds. She had an oversized bag and filled it as much as she dared. She had left a cardigan in her office from a few days prior, so she put that on top of the bag to help conceal the contents inside. She prayed that she wouldn't run in to any of her colleagues, and thankfully, she didn't. She had already spoken to David over the phone that morning, putting in what she thought was a convincing performance. She seemed to have passed the task, but David was a pushover, so it wasn't really that hard.

On the way to see Sherlock, Molly stopped by the local Tesco's to grab a few more supplies. She finally made her way to Sherlock's new lodgings at around 11 that morning. She knocked on the door, all the while looking around to make sure that no one was watching nor following her. She'd seen enough spy shows and movies to know to watch out for a tail.

When there was no response from inside, she tried to turn the door handle, which to her surprise wasn't locked. She slowly opened the door and walked inside.

She had only taken one or two steps inside when she heard the click of something metallic, then felt cold steel pressed up against her neck.

Molly's blood ran cold. She dropped everything in her hands, swallowed hard, closed her eyes and slowly lifted her hands up as if to surrender.

This was it. This was as far as she goes in this tale. She helped Sherlock, someone found out, and now it was her turn to die. But she had no regrets. If she had to do it over again, she would do it all again in a heartbeat no questions asked.

Just before she thought the person with the gun was going to pull the trigger, she whispered one name while a single tear swept down her face.

'_Sherlock'_.

'Yes Molly?'

Molly's eyes popped open.

She then slowly turned around.

'Sherlock? WHAT THE HELL?'

'Just wanted to see how well you did under pressure.' Sherlock uncocked the gun and put it down on the table, all the while acting as if nothing significant had happened at all.

Molly was furious. She was shaking like a leaf out of pure anger. Sherlock – the man she helped save yesterday – had just put a _GUN TO HER HEAD_ just to see how well she did under pressure! She had never been more livid as much as she had been in that one moment.

'Just wanted… SHERLOCK! I HELPED YOU IN YOUR HAIR BRAINED SCHEME YESTERDAY TO HELP SAVE YOUR LIFE! I HAVE RISKED _**EVERYTHING**_ FOR YOU! YOU REPAY ME BY PUTTING A GUN TO MY HEAD?' Molly was gasping for air by the time she had finished screaming.

Sherlock gave Molly a derisive look as he limped around her to face her. He rested his can on his arm while he held Molly by the shoulders.

'Molly, I am about to go and dismantle a terrorist cell which I cannot do on my own. Since asking John is most certainly out of the question, that only leaves one person. You. You are the only person that I can trust with the knowledge that I am indeed still alive and if anyone happens to find out that I'm not actually a corpse, they could very well come after you. I need to know that you can stand your ground. Clearly, you can't. Work on that.'

Molly was dumbfounded. Had she not proven herself enough yesterday? She would do anything for this genius of a man. And even though she envisioned wrapping her tiny fingers around his throat and throttling the life out of him, the world would be a terribly sad and desperate place without him. Plus, completely make everything that has led up to this point null and void.

'What do you need me to do?' she asked, resigning herself to the fact that staying mad was futile.

'I need you to be my eyes and ears. I can only use the homeless network for so many things. I need you to be able to analyse samples that I might not be able to do, considering where I will be going. We will need to organise a way so that we can do this discreetly without anyone finding out. I, of course, may have one or two ideas.'

Sherlock did try to pace like he usually would when he was on a roll like this, but his ankle would not allow it. Instead, he limped his way over to the lounge and proceeded to sit there with his fingers together, just under his chin. He looked as if he was praying, but Molly knew better. The only higher power Sherlock believed in was himself and himself alone.

Molly nodded her head. 'Okay. And I'm guessing you would also like me to tell you what's going on with John?'

The only acknowledgement that Molly received from Sherlock was him closing his eyes.

Molly shook her head. 'We can sort this out later. Here, let me have a look at your wounds.' With that, she picked up the strewn bags from the floor, quickly put the small amount of groceries away, then walked over and proceeded to tend to Sherlock.

While Molly was re-wrapping Sherlock's ankle, her phone rang. She fished the phone out of her pocket and checked the caller id.

Her heart stopped.

It was John.

She held up the phone to Sherlock so he could see who it was. She had been dreading this conversation, but knew it had to happen eventually. She didn't think it would be this soon, though.

Sherlock slowly nodded his head and looked away. Molly quickly stood up, took a deep breath and answered the phone.

'Hello'

'Hi Molly.. it's… it's John.' Just in those 5 words, Molly could hear how broken John was. It made her eyes slowly start to tear up.

'John… my God… how are you? Wait… sorry. That's a stupid question. What… what can I do for you?'

'I need you… to tell me. Is he… is he really…' The phone went silent.

Molly's heart was going out to the poor man. The moment had come where she had to start the lies to the very man who didn't deserve them.

'Yes… I'm sorry John. I performed the autopsy myself.'

'I see.' More silence. Just when Molly thought John had hung up, he continued.

'I know it's a bit soon, but Mycroft wanted this sorted as soon as possible. He's arranged for Sherlock's… funeral… for Thursday. Will you come?'

'Of course, John. You don't even have to ask.'

'Thank you.'

With that, John hung up the phone and Molly began to sob.

She slowly turned around to face Sherlock. He never said a word, but gave her a look that said that he was grateful. Molly collected herself, walked back to Sherlock and continued to re strap his ankle. Not a word on the subject was uttered, so Molly fixed Sherlock some lunch (which was left untouched) as well as herself, and they discussed ways in which they could communicate to each other once Sherlock had gone. Molly came up with the idea of a 'dead drop'. She tried to explain to Sherlock that she had seen the concept used on a television show called Alias. Sherlock responded by ignoring her completely.

After lunch, Sherlock moved back over to his chair and picked up his violin. He started playing a beautifully haunting song that Molly had never heard before. It was so sad… you could hear all of the emotion in this one song.

Molly could only hear so much. She called out to Sherlock to say that she would be back tomorrow, but he never stopped playing. She gathered up her things and left.


	2. The Funeral

**Hey all!**

**So... I've just knocked out this entire chapter in one sitting. I just couldn't stop! It's 12.24am and I have to get up at 7 to go to work. I'm not going to regret this though.**

**So, to those of you who have read the first chapter, or have added it to their Story Alerts - thank you. I wasn't sure if I was going to go ahead with this, but knowing that people are indeed reading this (albeit only a few), that's enough to want to make me keep going with this.**

**I do have to apologise though. I am not a writer. But, I feel like I just have to get this out. So, if you have any pointers, please feel free to share them with me!**

**Anyway, enough rambling... here's Chapter 2.**

* * *

A few days had passed since Sherlock's fall. Molly had seen Sherlock only a handful of times since then. As Sherlock's recovery progressed, her visits became less and less needed. His wounds were healing nicely. Some of the bruising was turning that nasty yellowy purplely colour and some of his stitches were ready to be taken out. Molly's tending to him was pretty much the only interaction they had. They very rarely spoke.

Sherlock was brooding. He would never admit it, but he was missing John terribly. Molly could tell. Hell, the whole world would've been able to tell. Molly hadn't spoken to John, for fear of spilling everything out to him. But, she knew she had to get herself together. If she were to face John (or anyone for that matter) at Sherlock's funeral, she had to make sure she had everything right in her head. She knew that she didn't need to fake the tears, but her acting skills definitely needed sharpening.

The day before the funeral, Sherlock wanted Molly to see him one last time to make sure that everything was in place. Sherlock's wounds had healed enough for him to leave on his quest to disable Moriarty's tangled web of terrorism. He wanted to make sure that Molly knew what to say, how to act, and how to contact him whilst he was gone.

Sherlock had been quizzing Molly for about 2 hours. He was pacing. She was getting restless and agitated, but understood why he was doing this. He seemed very uneasy. Molly didn't blame him. She was sitting in his chair with her legs crossed underneath her.

"What are you going to say if Inspector Lestrade questions you about the fall?"

"He already has, Sherlock. He called me down to Scotland Yard. Look, I've told you this already!"

Sherlock gave her one of his patented withered looks. Then he continued on as if Molly hadn't spoken.

"What is the protocol for me to contact you?"

Molly gave a big sigh. "If I am at home, I am to check The Times Classifieds every day. If you want to contact me, you will put in an ad asking for a cleaner for a small cottage at 122 Alexander Avenue. Once I have seen this ad, I am to go to the park down the street from my apartment and sit on the bench that is opposite the playground. Once there, I will read a book which is a signal for one of your homeless network to leave a parcel or whatever you want to give me in amongst the shrubbery to the left of the bench. I will know that this has been done when the person who left the package comes to me asking for any spare change. If I am at work at St Barts, the protocol is that I will receive a phone call from someone asking for Curry in a Hurry Indian Restaurant. I will inform them that they have the wrong number. I will then go to the courtyard near the east wing where there will be a package behind the statue."

Molly sounded so robotic she almost sent herself to sleep.

Sherlock was not amused. He stopped his pacing and rounded on Molly so quickly she sat bolt upright. He was so close to her face that their noses were almost touching.

"Molly. Do not for one second take this lightly."

Usually, Molly would be frightened when Sherlock would do something like this. She would cower and scamper away. But over the past few days, even with little to no conversation between the two of them, she felt more at ease around him. She really couldn't explain it. She knew she felt compassion for the man. But she was a very compassionate person.

She had come to realise that she had gained a sense of strength she didn't have before. It was like her resolve to help him had grown exponentially.

With this new sense of self, she also found that she could handle Sherlock's gruffness a lot better than before. He wasn't the only one risking everything. So when he got up in her face, she looked him dead in the eye.

"Do not think for one second that I would ever do such a thing, Sherlock."

The tension in the air was palpable. But, Molly did not waiver. She did not stop looking him in the eye. Sherlock on the other hand, gave Molly a small smirk.

"I see you're not scared of me anymore." He backed away and stood up with his hands in his pockets. Sherlock's smirk turned into one of bemusement. The tension that hung between them left as quickly as it came.

Molly chuckled. "What for? You're nothing but a big pussycat, really." She rolled her eyes.

Sherlock looked at her. He had a look on his face that Molly couldn't quite decipher. She could almost swear that he looked… happy.

They stared at each other for a lot longer than what would be considered normal.

Molly suddenly shivered. She looked out the window and realised that the sun had almost set. It was getting late.

"I had better be off. Will I see you before the service tomorrow?" She asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "I should think not."

Any happiness that had filled the room quickly evaporated.

"So… this is it, then?" Molly asked.

"So it would seem."

Molly didn't know what to do or say. She didn't want to say goodbye, because that felt too final.

Before she could get a hold of her senses, she closed the gap between them and embraced him in a tight bear hug. She rested her cheek on his chest, right above his heart.

"Please be safe." She whispered.

At first, Sherlock didn't respond. Molly didn't care. But after about a minute, she felt two arms return the hug and a cheek resting on top of her head.

"I'll miss you."

Molly's eyes, which had been closed, snapped open. Did she hear what she thought she did?

It was said barely above a whisper. Molly wasn't even sure that he had even said anything, or if it was her mind playing tricks on her.

She slowly slid her arms out from underneath his, looked up, and placed a chaste kiss on his left cheek.

With that, she grabbed her bag from the kitchen table and walked out the door. Not once looking back at the man that she cared for.

* * *

When she got home, she didn't slump down against the door in some whimpering mess, but instead ran a hot shower, got into her comfiest pyjamas, and settled in to watch some television. She didn't feel nervous or anxious about the funeral anymore. She had a purpose. She knew she couldn't fail. It wasn't an option. She would put on the performance of her life and she would make damn sure that she would not let Sherlock Holmes down.

It was 12pm on Thursday - the day of Sherlock's funeral. Molly stood in front of her full length mirror in her bedroom, making sure her outfit was okay. She wore a simple black dress with a black cardigan, stockings and simple black shoes with a small heel. She wore minimal make up. She purposefully didn't put on any mascara. One, she wasn't a fan of it in the first place and two, when she started crying, she didn't want to look like a racoon.

She had just finished making her final glance in the mirror when she heard the sound of a car horn from down in front of her apartment. She picked up her small black clutch (that had enough tissues inside to service a room full of crying fangirls) and headed out the door. She got into the cab, gave the driver the directions, and sat back. Greg Lestrade had offered to drive her to the service, but she had declined, stating that she would like to be left to her own thoughts before the service. She had a suspicion that the ex - Detective Inspector may have had a small crush on her, but she knew he wasn't quite over his wife leaving him once again. Turns out his wife was sleeping with the PE teacher after all. This was a surprise to no one. Besides, Molly didn't fancy him in that way. Sure, he was attractive, but her heart belonged to another – whether he wanted it or not.

She was glad she went on her own. She really did need to collect her thoughts. Her resolve from the day before had not wavered. She was ready for this. She was not going to let Sherlock down.

So when the cab had rolled up to St Paul's Cathedral, she had already had a sombre look to her face. She was going to play this part and play it well.

She paid the driver and got out. She saw standing near the entrance was Mycroft, and she guessed, Mycroft and Sherlock's mother. Molly was slightly taken aback. She looked so much like Sherlock, or, really it should be the other way around. She was tall, had dark hair with some grey streaks, and piercing blue eyes. John was standing on the other side of the entrance with Mrs Hudson. John looked up and saw Molly heading towards them.

"Molly! So good of you to come." He embraced her like she was his only lifeline.

After they separated, Molly looked him over. He looked dreadful. He looked like he hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep in the days since the fall. He also looked like he'd lost a considerable amount of weight, his eyes were bloodshot and he had heavy bags under his eyes.

Mrs Hudson looked a little better than John, but was still rather devastated. Molly knew that Mrs Hudson loved Sherlock like a son. She quickly gave Mrs Hudson a hug and she gave Molly a squeeze of the hand in return.

"Miss Hooper."

Molly turned around at the sound of her name. She realised with a start she was now face to face with the Holmes clan.

"How lovely it is to see you. May I introduce you to my mother, Mrs Violet Holmes. Mummy, this is Miss Molly Hooper."

Mycroft looked as if nothing significant had happened at all. He was dressed smartly in his dark grey suit. He looked like he was about to attend a cabinet meeting, not the funeral of his one and only brother. Mrs Holmes on the other hand looked stoic. But you could see in her eyes that she was clearly devastated. Mrs Holmes extended her arms to Molly and took her by the hands.

"Molly. How lovely it is to meet you at last. Sherlock has mentioned you quite a number of times."

Molly was shocked. Sherlock had talked about her? To his mother? Her curiosity was in overdrive. What on earth was Sherlock doing talking to his mother about her? And what about?

"Hopefully it was all nice things!" Molly added, meekly.

"Of course, my dear. He was very fond of you, you know."

Molly was at a loss for words. Thankfully, John decided to pipe up. "We are talking about the same Sherlock Holmes here, aren't we?"

"Why yes, Mr Watson. My son could never keep a secret from me, no matter how hard he tried." She gave both John and Molly a small smile.

Just then, the priest who was conducting the ceremony motioned for the gathered party to assemble inside for the service.

Molly noticed just before she walked inside that the former Detective Inspector was nowhere to be found. She quickly grabbed John by his jumper sleeve.

"John… where's Lestrade?" she whispered.

"He thought after everything that had happened down at Scotland Yard that showing his face here wouldn't be such a good idea." He whispered back.

Molly felt for the poor man. He had been shamed and demoted. He almost lost his job altogether. What Molly couldn't stand was the fact that Sgt Sally Donovan had been promoted to the new Detective Inspector. Sherlock's rant when he found out this bit of news was quite colourful.

The service itself was quite lovely. Molly played her part as best as she could. Cried at the right parts, laughed at all of the little anecdotes John told the congregation during the eulogy. It was short and sweet. Sherlock would've been happy with it.

After the service, a small company of people gathered around Sherlock's gravesite. One by one, they all paid their respects and left until the only two people left were John and Molly.

They both stood there in silence. Molly knew that whatever she said wouldn't be able to console the man. Well, she could say one thing, but that would put them both in a world of hurt.

So, she said the lines that she had rehearsed with Sherlock the day before.

"He cared for you. You know that, right?"

John just nodded. "Yeah… I know." Molly could see he was starting to get worked up – just like Sherlock said he would.

"But… why Molly? Why did he have to go and... jump off that bloody building? He wasn't… he wasn't a… a… a fake! You know that, don't you?" He looked up at her pleadingly.

"Of course I do, John. No one could fake being that infuriating." She gave him a small smile.

John laughed a little at that. "Yeah… I told him that once or twice myself."

They both fell silent again. Molly looked around the cemetery. It was a lovely day. The sun was shining and the wind had picked up a bit. She looked around to her left and saw a silhouette of a man quickly disappear behind a large tree. She knew who it was instantly. But she didn't dare make a move towards him while John was around. Mercifully, John decided that he had had enough.

"I can't… I can't be here anymore. Do you need a lift or something?"

"No. I'll be fine. It's a nice day out so I might just go for a walk."

John nodded. They gave each other one last final embrace. With that, John walked away, head bowed.

Molly made sure that John was a safe distance away, and then made a beeline for that large tree.

Just as she had reached it, Sherlock poked his head around.

"So how was it? Did Mycroft have a good cry?"

Molly gave him a look. "Don't be daft. But I do have to ask you a question. What were you doing talking to your mother about me?"

Sherlock looked stricken, but then quickly composed himself. "Sometimes your name would pop up into conversation when conveying to mummy about some of my cases. That's all." He looked away to a spot in the distance, not daring to look Molly in the eye. Molly tried hard to supress a giggle.

"I thought you said that I wasn't going to see you today."

"I lied."

"Clearly."

They just stood there, looking at far off places in the distance, neither of them really knowing what to say.

After a short period of time, Sherlock finally spoke up.

"I should think I'll be requiring your help fairly soon. I already have a lead as to where Moriarty was hiding out here in London. I might need to send you some soil samples that need to be tested."

Molly nodded. "Whatever you need."

Sherlock looked down at her. Molly looked up at him. It was yesterday afternoon all over again.

This time it was Sherlock's turn to surprise Molly. He placed both hands on the side of her head, reached down and kissed her lightly on her forehead. Molly placed her hands on his and closed her eyes. She was going to savour this moment for as long as she could.

"Goodbye Molly Hooper." He whispered against her hair.

"Please be safe." She begged of him.

After a bit longer than was necessary, Sherlock let go of Molly, turned around, and left - long black coat billowing out behind him. Molly stayed and watched until he was nothing but a speck in the distance, then turned and walked away herself.


	3. Moving In

**Dear my fantastic readers.**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, added to their story alerts, or who have just read it. It means an awful lot to me. I'm not a writer (as the first two chapters would suggest), but knowing that anyone has read this makes my heart sing. So thank you from the bottom of my (very very dark) heart. :)**

**Also, thank you to my wonderful, beautiful, kick ass Beta - Marilyn. She really is a writer and an inspiration. She isn't really into Sherlolly, but she's willing to help me out, so thank you so so SO much! *hugs***

**Anyway... usual disclaimer... not mine.**

* * *

A few weeks had passed and Molly had heard nothing from the Consulting Detective. She was starting to fret. Was he okay? Was he still alive? Not a single thing had come by her in the form of news or even rumour.

She checked the classifieds in the Times newspaper every morning, noon and night, but found nothing. When she was at work, she never received a phone call asking for an Indian takeout restaurant. Molly was starting to get very agitated, and if she were true to herself, quite scared.

One overcast Monday morning, Molly went through her usual routine. It was one of her rare days off, but she went through the routine regardless. She got up out of bed, immediately made it, had a hot shower, got dressed and made herself breakfast. She then traversed over to the door, opened it up and picked up the paper that was sitting on her doorstep. She sighed, wondering if even reading it was worth her while. But, dutifully, she closed the door, walked back to her kitchen table, had a seat and proceeded to turn to the classified section.

Molly had just taken a scolding mouthful of her morning coffee, when she spat it across the table. There it was - the advertisement for a cleaner at 122 Alexander Avenue.

Molly could not believe her eyes. She read and re-read the small advert. _Finally! _She thought to herself. He was alive after all and was in need of her help.

After taking one or two small bites of her toast, she quickly donned on her trench coat and picked up the novel that she had sitting on her table beside the door and made a beeline for the park down the street from her apartment.

Once she made it to the edge of the park, she had to stop. She was nervous. She had never done anything like this before and by God was she was feeling the strain. Her pulse was practically racing like a jet engine in her chest. She took two deep breaths to try and calm her nerves then made her way over to the park bench.

She took a seat opposite the playground. She opened up her book and pretended to read; she knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate on the words. Hell, she didn't even know what book she picked up. She quickly turned the cover over and rolled her eyes. It was a book that everyone around her seemed to be raving about – including her best friend Mary. It was a trashy, romance novel that Molly had no interest in reading _at all__._ Apparently the smut in the book was incredibly 'entertaining and colourful' as Mary had put it. Molly had no interest in romance novels or anything of the like. She told Mary that she would get to it as soon as she could, but knowing she never would. She had left it on the table beside the door to remind herself to return it to Mary the next time she saw her.

There was nothing Molly could really do. She didn't have anything else. So, she opened the book and just stared at a page. After a short while, there was a tap on her shoulder. Molly froze. But, she composed herself and looked up at the homeless person.

"'Scuse me, love! Got any spare change?" The homeless person with a strange cockney accent held his grubby hand out to Molly.

"Ahh… yeah… yeah sure…." Molly quickly rifled through her coat pockets to see what she had.

Suddenly, she felt hot breath beside her ear. She heard a voice she instantly recognised.

The voice whispered "A romance novel? I did not believe a non-existent love life would reduce you to read _that, _Molly Hooper."

Molly stopped dead.

She clasped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. She slowly turned back around and took notice of the homeless man. He was tall, lanky, looked like he hadn't bathed in weeks – and smelt like it too. From what she could see of his hair underneath an old beat up beanie was salt and pepper; as was his beard. His clothes were extremely old and tattered. But the eyes - the eyes told her everything. She had looked into those piercing blue orbs so many times there was no way she could misjudge who this was.

Sherlock merely looked down and smirked at her.

Once Molly had composed herself enough, she half whispered, half shrieked "_WHAT are you DOING here?_"

Sherlock quickly glanced around.

"Well, I'm in need of your services. And your apartment."

Molly looked at Sherlock in disbelief.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Come now, Molly. It's really not that hard to comprehend. I'll meet you back at your apartment in about 10 minutes. Now go. I'll meet you there."

Molly nodded, rose and walked (well, almost ran) back to her apartment. She didn't dare look back for fear of casting suspicion on the 'homeless man.'

When she got back to her apartment, she tried to clean up. Her apartment wasn't really untidy; due to the fact that Molly was a clean freak. She did have a fresh pile of laundry sitting on her recliner that she hadn't sorted through yet, so she took the pile and sat it on her bed. She walked back out to the lounge room and cast an eye over the apartment. Whilst standing there looking around, she remembered that no amount of cleaning was going to be able to keep anything from Sherlock. He'd deduce her modest little flat no matter what she did. So, with slumped shoulders, she walked to the kitchen and boiled the kettle.

As soon as she had finished making two strong coffees (one black with two sugars), she heard a knock on the door.

Molly walked over, put her most dazzling smile on her face and opened the door. She was half way saying that she had just made them a coffee when she had to do a double take. Well, that was after Sherlock pushed past her and stood in the middle of her lounge room. No longer did Sherlock look like someone who was a part of his Homeless Network, but the Sherlock of old - expensive black tailored suit with purple dress shirt (Molly's favourite, she must admit), polished black shoes, and his trademark coat and blue scarf. His face was clean shaven and his hair was as raven and curly as she last remembered it. Sherlock was on time; it had only been about 9 minutes since she left the park. So how did he have time to look so…. _Sherlock?_

Sherlock looked around; deducing Molly's life and belongings. Molly knew there wasn't much she could do to stop him, so she let him.

After Sherlock seemed satisfied, he walked up her hallway and opened the door to her spare bedroom. She didn't keep much in there, just some old junk that she didn't know where to put, or had no room for. There was a small double bed for when she had guests stay over (which was not very often). She also kept her treadmill in there. Sherlock looked at the treadmill, and then looked at Molly with a raised eyebrow. He then proceeded to walk into the room and as briskly as he walked in, he walked out again.

Sherlock then proceeded to walk into Molly's bedroom.

Molly was alarmed. "Hey! That's my bedroom! What are you doing?" She followed him into the bedroom and saw him starting to go through her dresser.

"Don't you think roommates should know the best and worst of each other?" Sherlock asked has he picked up a black lace bra between his index finger and thumb.

Molly walked over and snatched the bra from his hand, then shoved it back into the drawer and slammed it shut, almost slamming Sherlock's fingers in it.

Molly rounded on Sherlock. "What do you mean roommates?"

"Meaning exactly that. My investigations have lead me to believe that Moriarty did most of his business over here in the UK, rather than overseas. I have disabled most of his network that is based in the United States and parts of Europe, but now I need to focus my attention here in Britain. For that, I need a place to stay." With that, Sherlock turned and walked into Molly's ensuite.

Molly was dumbfounded. What did he mean he needed a place to stay? Didn't he already have one?

Molly followed Sherlock into the ensuite to see that he was now rifling through her cabinet. "What about that place you stayed in just after the fall?"

A shadow cast over Sherlock's face. "It's too…. quiet. Besides, if I were to reside here, it would be a lot easier for me to get in contact with you if I need you to run some tests."

Molly could see the logic in that. She also felt for Sherlock. He had obviously gotten used to having someone around. He was missing John; that much was clear. But, this was Sherlock Holmes. The very man she was in love with. The man that made her stutter and trip over herself because of the way he made her feel.

Sherlock must've sensed that Molly was having an inner battle with herself to let him stay, because the next thing Molly knew was that he had walked over, grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her _that_ look.

"Molly, I don't like to beg. But, I need you. Please."

Molly searched Sherlock's face to see if he was doing his usual trick of appealing to her softer side to get what he wanted. All she found was genuine sincerity.

Molly shook her head. She didn't believe she was about to say yes to this, but she did exactly that.

"Alright." Molly whispered.

Sherlock smiled down at Molly. Then, he let her go, walked straight back into the spare bedroom, closed the door firmly behind him.

Molly stood in her bedroom doorway staring at the spare bedroom that was now occupied and shook her head. She had just agreed to let Sherlock Holmes live with her for an indefinable amount of time. Was she crazy? No. She remembered her vow to Sherlock the day he came to her and asked for her help. She would do anything to help this man, even if that meant living with him and being all sorts of annoyed and pissed off with him at times. She knew she had to take the good with the bad.

With that, she walked to the kitchen, remembering the cups of coffee she had made, which would no doubt be cold now. She put Sherlock's mug in the microwave, heated it up, and walked back up the hallway. She hesitated for a second, wondering if annoying him would be such a good idea.

She made a move to knock on the door, when it flew open.

"Ah yes. Thank you, Molly." He took the mug from her hand, and then closed the door again.

Molly stood there gaping like a caught fish, and then walked back down to the kitchen to collect her own mug. She reheated her coffee, then sat down on the lounge and turned on the television.

After about an hour of hearing clanging and bashing in the room, Sherlock strode out into the lounge room.

"Why do you have a treadmill?" Sherlock asked with a look of distaste.

Molly gave him a look as if to suggest that it should be quite obvious. "Why do you think I have a treadmill? I like to exercise."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? I like to keep fit. I don't like going to the gym, so I do it here at home by running on my treadmill. Why is that so hard to understand?"

Sherlock gave her a look as if to suggest she had gone completely mad. "You don't need to. You have a perfectly fine body – even if you try and hide it under those hideous clothes you wear. Get rid of it." With that, he turned and walked back into the bedroom and closed the door.

Molly was stunned and her face went beet red. Did Sherlock just give her a compliment? A backhanded one at that, but still. A small smile crept up onto her face.

Molly had no intention of getting rid of the treadmill, but she knew she had to put in somewhere other than the spare room, since she knew she wouldn't be allowed in there for the foreseeable future. She would get a hold of Mary to see if she could store it at her place, just for the time being.

Molly did not see Sherlock for the rest of the day or night.

* * *

The next morning, Molly was roused from her sleep by loud clanging in the kitchen. She tried to ignore it as much as she could – even going as far as putting a pillow over her head. She glanced quickly at the clock. It was only 5.45. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing to go back to sleep. She didn't have work today due to it being a Sunday, but she was on call. She wanted to get as much sleep as she could, just in case.

Just as Molly was about to drift off into dreamland again, her bedroom door swung open.

"Molly. Wake up."

Molly groaned. She didn't bother to move or remove the pillow from her head.

"What Sherlock?" She mumbled.

"You don't seem to have any milk."

Molly sighed. She knew she wasn't going to get any sleep now. She rolled over and looked at Sherlock incredulously.

"Sherlock, it's 5.45 in the bloody morning. What are you doing up this early anyway?"

"Your spare bed is horrifyingly uncomfortable. We'll have to see about getting a new one. But that doesn't change the fact that you have no milk."

Molly sighed loudly again. She threw the covers off her body and got up out of bed. She grabbed her old tatty, flower patterned dressing gown and threw it on. She then turned to look at Sherlock.

"Okay, look. If this is going to work, there needs to be some rules. Firstly, if you need something, either leave a note on the fridge, or tell me when it's not so bloody early in the morning. Secondly, you can't just barge into my room like this. I won't stand for it. I won't do it to you, so you can kindly return the favour. Understood?"

Sherlock gave her an approving look. "Well well, Doctor Hooper. It seems we're not a morning person. You're quite catty first thing, aren't you?" It was a statement more than a question.

"Yes, especially if someone comes barrelling into your room asking for something as mundane as milk before 6 o'clock in the morning. Now get out so I can get changed and go to the shops for you."

Sherlock made no move to leave. He was busy appraising her.

"Sherlock? What is it?" Molly asked, starting to feel quite self-conscious.

"You really have changed, haven't you? It's a nice improvement." With that, he turned and walked out, closing the door silently behind him.

Molly shook her head and made to get dressed.

* * *

**So there you go. Chapter 3. I'm sorry it took so long to get to you. I had to deal with a few personal issues, as well as all of my feels for The Dark Knight Rises. So, hopefully I'll get to Chapter 4 a bit quicker. But in the meantime, PLEASE let me know what you thought of this.**

**- Lauren.**


	4. Coffee with John

A few weeks had passed since Sherlock had pushed his way in to Molly's flat. Molly didn't think her life could be any more topsy turvy, but she was wrong. In the space of only a day Sherlock had pretty much deduced every little thing about her. There were one or two things he managed to get wrong, but Molly didn't let Sherlock know. She needed to have some sort of power over him to have some semblance of sanity.

Besides - Molly could_ see_ Sherlock. She knew that he was sad. He was missing John terribly as well as his old life. So, to help Sherlock alleviate his boredom (and to keep him out of her hair), she would sneak home one or two body parts so he could conduct some experiments.

Molly had always dreamt of living with Sherlock. Just not like this. To his credit though, he was trying his hardest to be… not himself. He offered to clean up the dishes (when he actually ate something), cleaned up the flat (only when Molly was fed up with him and his experiments taking up the entire kitchen), and gave her money to help with food and board. He was trying to be nice - emphasis on the word _trying_. But, every now and again he would revert back to his old sulking self.

Now was one of those times.

He was currently in his room, playing his violin. He had been in there for the better part of two days. Molly saw neither hide nor hair of him, but she knew better than to provoke him while he was in one of his moods, so she let him be. She sat out in the lounge room, reading a trashy magazine she picked up at the store earlier on that day. Molly knew most of the stories were complete fabrications, but sometimes she just liked to read them knowing that they were a complete lie and have a good laugh.

Suddenly, the music stopped. Molly assumed he had had enough of sulking and put his mind onto something else. What surprised Molly is the fact that the thing that Sherlock had put his mind to was her.

He opened his door, stormed up the hallway and stood directly in front of Molly.

"Why are you reading that?"

Molly didn't even bother to look up from her magazine.

"Because I like to have a good laugh now and then." She said tersely.

"But why?"

Molly looked up at Sherlock and gave him an incredulous look.

"But why bother? Does it really matter who is sleeping with whom or how much weight someone has lost?"

Molly sighed. She closed the magazine and put it down beside her. Molly knew why he was like this.

"Would you like me to go and check up on John and Mrs Hudson?"

Sherlock took on an air of nonchalance and crossed his arms. "No. Why would I want you to do that?"

"Because it's obvious that you miss them. It's okay, Sherlock. I know you don't like sentiment, but even you are human. You could make your life and those around you that much easier if you'd stop lying to yourself and just accept that little fact. And don't worry. I'm meeting up with John for coffee after my shift this afternoon."

For once in the entire time Sherlock had been living with Molly, he looked at a loss for words. He glared at Molly for a moment longer than what was truly necessary, turned on his heel and went back to his bedroom, picking up his violin and started playing Bach's Violin Concerto in A Minor.

* * *

Molly's shift at the morgue was quite uneventful. There weren't any bodies for her to process, so she took the time to catch up on some paperwork that she had been falling behind on.

She had come to the sad realisation that the morgue was just not the same without Sherlock and John constantly barging in and taking over everything. John hadn't been by at all since Sherlock's 'death'; nor did she think he would. It would obviously conjure up too many memories. Sometimes Molly would look at some of the lab equipment that Sherlock used and feel quite sad, until she remembered who was currently living in her flat, taking up almost her entire kitchen again with his latest experiment.

While Molly was getting ready for work, Sherlock ducked out (in his dirty hobo disguise, of course) and came back just as she was about to head out the door. He pushed passed her and sat himself in front of his microscope. He had some soil samples, as well as some blood. Molly didn't want to think about how Sherlock came across that, but something deep down told her it might've been with a bullet, considering his revolver was in his pocket. He looked like he was settling in for the day, so Molly rolled her eyes, turned and walked out, not even bothering to say goodbye for she knew she would not get a response.

Suddenly, Molly was pulled out of her reverie as the morgue telephone started to ring. Molly picked it up, expecting to be told that a body was on its way down. Instead, what she heard was:

"I'm sorry. Is this… Curry in a Hurry Indian Restaurant?"

Molly sat bolt upright in her chair.

"Ahh… no. Sorry. Wrong number."

She heard a click on the line, letting her know that the person had disconnected.

Sherlock must need her for something. But, since he was now living at her place, she thought the whole dead drop thing was over with.

Obviously not.

He couldn't text, for he decided that any mobile of his could easily be traceable, so whenever he needed to text one of his contacts, he would use Molly's phone.

So, Molly grabbed her coat and made her way over to the courtyard near the east wing. Once there, Molly gave the courtyard a quick glance around to make sure that no one would spot her. Thankfully no one was there, so she walked quickly behind the scary looking angel statue that was over on the far side. She was half expecting Sherlock to be sitting there waiting for her. Instead, she found a small parcel with a note.

_These are some of the samples I collected this morning. I am unable to conduct some tests due to the fact that I don't have access to your morgue. Look for trace elements of gun powder and zinc in the soil and anything of interest in the blood._

_-SH._

Molly read the note twice over before folding it and putting it in her pocket. She picked up the small package and walked back to her morgue. Once there, she immediately set to work on finding anything of interest.

After a few hours, she came up with some results. The soil sample that Sherlock gave her did have high amounts of sulphur, charcoal and potassium nitrate (which make up gunpowder) as well as high amounts of zinc. Also of interest were the trace amounts of aluminium oxide. The blood work wasn't that unusual though. It contained traces of cocaine, but only a small amount.

Molly was so caught up with what she was doing, she lost track of time. She just happened to glance at her watch and realised that she had to meet John in half an hour. Molly was going to go home and give Sherlock the results, but now that was out of the question. She wasn't going to keep John waiting. With that, she packed up her stuff and high tailed it out of the morgue.

* * *

About twenty minutes later found Molly at Speedy's. She found John sitting at a booth towards the back. She ordered herself a coffee and made her way over to John, who stood up and gave Molly a hug. When John phoned yesterday to see if she would like to meet for a coffee, he sounded as bad as he did when she spoke to him just after the fall. To look at him, he was even worse. Molly's heart broke.

Molly knew it was redundant to ask how he was, but she asked anyway.

John was very despondent. 'Oh you know… just… ' He trailed off. Molly just nodded her head and took a small sip of her coffee.

They sat there in an uncomfortable silence for a moment when suddenly John looked Molly dead in the eye and blurted out 'Why Molly? Why did he lie? Why did he tell me that he was a fake? You and I both know he wasn't. He was the most brilliant man… just… why?' John put his head in his hands.

It was killing Molly seeing John like this. Knowing that telling the truth was out of the question, she decided on a different tack. She took a deep breath, then took John's hand and squeezed a little. John looked up at Molly with tears gleaming in his eyes, threatening to fall.

'John. Listen to me. Sherlock was a brilliant man. The most brilliant man that I have ever known or _will_ ever know. He cared about you a great deal and he would never intentionally hurt you. You _know_ this. I don't know why Sherlock said those things to you, but he did. You can try and analyse it over and over again, but all it's going to do is send you insane. I'm not telling you to let it go completely, because I can see the pain is still too raw for you. But… you need to start healing. You need to get back out into the world and start living again. Now, I have a friend. Her name is Mary. I'm not going to try and set you two up or anything, but it might be an idea to just meet up with her. Talk to someone that's not directly involved with this whole mess. It could give you a completely different outlook on life. It honestly hurts me to see you this way. Please… just think about it, okay?'

John just looked at Molly. 'Okay… I guess. I just… need a bit more time. Okay?'

'Yeah of course it's okay.' She gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand one more time before letting go.

John took on an air of thoughtfulness for a moment.

'Molly… how are you coping?'

Molly just shrugged. 'I'm … okay. I'm taking it day by day. I mean yeah, it feels like my hearts been torn to shreds, but I know life goes on. Sherlock wouldn't want us to dwell on it too much. Infact, I'm pretty sure he would tell us off for even feeling any type of emotion! But, I'll be okay. As will you. With time.'

John gave a small laugh. 'Why does it feel like that is never gonna happen?'

'It will trust me.'

John and Molly finished off their coffees, and made their way to leave. As Molly was putting on her coat, she noticed a gentleman leave the coffee shop.

The man looked awfully familiar. Infact, Molly was certain she had seen that particular hobo before.

* * *

**Hi all!**

**So there you go. So so so sorry it's taken so long to get up. I've had some shit happening in my life that's demanded most of my attention. So thank you all for being so kind and being paitient.**

**I have loved every single one of my reviews. Thank you all so much. It truly means a lot.**

**Oh… and try and spot the Doctor Who reference. ;)**

**And once again thank you to the fantastically wonderful Marilyn for betaing. :D**

**- Lauren.**


	5. Scream

Molly was furious. She had never been so angry with anyone in her entire life. Did Sherlock not trust her? Did he think that she was going to come back and lie to him about how John really was? No. She knew that he missed John. He needed to see him to gauge how he was handling it all. But still - he was risking _everything_ by pulling this little stunt.

As soon as she left the coffee shop, she had half a mind to follow Sherlock to see where he went. But she soon realised that she would be just as bad as he was. So, she made a beeline for home and decided to wait for Sherlock – no matter how long it took.

About an hour or so later, Molly heard keys rattling just outside her door. She had tried to read while she was waiting, but after reading the same line about 20 times over, she gave it up as a bad joke and decided to stare at the door, silently fuming. So when she heard that Sherlock was trying to enter, she got up and stood in the middle of the lounge room, crossing her arms and had a face of pure thunder.

Sherlock finally entered, took one look at Molly and knew that he had been caught out. His first instinct was to go straight to his room and ignore her. But, he knew that Molly was not going to let this drop. So, he bowed his head, closed the door, walked over to the table and slowly started to take his disguise off.

Molly was trembling with rage. So, she let loose. "How could you. _HOW COULD YOU, SHERLOCK?! _If John had've recognised you, you could've ruined EVERYTHING! All of this would've been for nothing! And you said so yourself – you're so close to bringing down Moriarty's web! How could you BE so stupid?! This is not just your life you're playing with here. It's mine and it's John's and it's everyone you claim to care about." Molly took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "I know you miss him. I _get _it. But you can't go and do something so completely idiotic like that, Sherlock! Is ANY of this getting through to you?!"

Sherlock said nothing. He just stood there. He was being uncharacteristically calm. He had a look on his face that Molly could not decipher, but he could not bring himself to look at her. Molly on the other hand was shooting him daggers.

After what felt like forever, he finally decided to talk. He still couldn't bring himself to look at her, though. "I don't know what you want me to say. Yes, it may have been what you call idiotic, but I needed to see him for myself. I have no regrets in doing that. I made sure that I was not being followed, nor was I being watched. I took all the precautions that I needed to. I – "

Molly cut him off, with her voiced still raised. "Well you didn't take enough precautions because I noticed you. It just takes the wrong person Sherlock, and all of this could be undone. We could both be dead. For real, this time." She couldn't bear to look at him a moment longer. She sighed. "Look. I'm tired. I'm going to bed." With that, she walked by, not bothering to look at him. He started to say something, but she just held up her hand as if to silence him. It worked.

She walked into her bedroom, and silently closed the door. She didn't know whether she wanted to punch the crap out of her pillow, scream into it, or crawl up into a ball and weep. Only one person known to mankind could make her so infuriated like this. She couldn't decide exactly what she wanted to do, so she slid down her bedroom door and landed on the floor with a thump. She was just… numb. She didn't want to think about any of it anymore, but it was all she could think about. It was obvious that Sherlock didn't value his life, but risking hers and John's in that fashion? If one of Moriarty's men had've been in that café, or just had've been walking past… she didn't want to finish that train of thought. And why was Sherlock so uncharacteristically calm just now? That was not like him – not at all. She did try and put herself in his shoes and she knew that she probably would've tried to do something similar. She did feel a bit bad about yelling at him like that, but he had it coming. All of the stress and tension that he had put her under for the past couple of weeks finally came to a head so she lost it.

Eventually, Molly had had enough of analysing everything. She decided that what she really needed was a hot shower. So, she grabbed her pyjamas and walked into her ensuite. She turned on the taps and ran it as hot as she could stand it. She took off her clothes and stood under the torrent with her eyes closed, bracing her hands against the tiles, wishing away all of the stress.

Just when she thought the water would start to run cold, she decided to hop out. She dried off, put on her pyjamas and stood in front of her bed. She didn't really want to face Sherlock, but she remembered the results that she got for him earlier on that day. She was debating with herself whether she should wait until morning, or give them to him now. With a shake of her head, she decided that she would give him the results now, not wanting to have this tension between them anymore. So, she walked over to her door and put her ear to it, wondering if she could her him pottering around out there. To her surprise, she could hear him mumbling.

She quietly opened the door, and the mumbling ceased. She slowly walked out and saw Sherlock sitting on the lounge with Toby in his lap.

"Were... were you just talking to my cat?"

"He's a cat, Molly. I don't think he has neither the intelligence nor the vocal capacity to answer back. But, he works just as well as my skull. When he doesn't walk away from me or try to claw at me."

Molly gave a small smile. Then, she took a deep breath. "Look, I'm not going to apologise for what I said, because I feel as if I had valid points. I am however sorry for the way that I attacked you."

Sherlock pushed Toby off his lap, got up and stood in front of her, looking at her intently. "Don't."

Molly was perplexed. "Don't what?"

"Don't backtrack like that. You were right to be angry with me. I did something I shouldn't have. It is not that unusual for me. You, however, have come such a long way in the past few weeks. You don't stutter around me anymore. You even stand up to me. You have become so strong, Molly Hooper. Don't revert back to the way you once were. Besides, if anyone should be sorry, it should be me."

Sherlock then leaned in, closed his eyes, left a lingering kiss on her forehead, and then whispered "I'm sorry, Molly Hooper. Please forgive me." With that, he moved away to the kitchen table, sat down and pulled out a slide.

Molly was in shock. That was the second time that Sherlock Holmes had kissed her, and then apologised for being an ass. She wanted to put her fingers over the spot where her forehead was tingling from the sensation, but thought she would wait until she was in the comfort and privacy of her bedroom before doing such a thing.

When she regained her senses, she remembered the results that were in her hand. She walked over to the kitchen table and placed the results in front of Sherlock.

"Before I forget, here are those results you were wanting."

Sherlock eyed the paperwork and grabbed at them like a greedy child grabbing at candy. He devoured every word that he read, completely forgetting about the slide he was looking at, as well as Molly. She knew that any further conversation was null and void, but she was glad that the tension and animosity that was between them had evaporated, so she turned and went back into her bedroom, closing the door and hopping into bed.

Once under the covers, Molly replayed the moment over in her head, finally reaching up and touching the spot that Sherlock had kissed. She smiled slightly, rolled over and fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Molly's alarm clock woke her at half past six, signalling the start of another work day. She sat up, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, gave Toby a scratch behind the ear (he had wandered into her bedroom after Sherlock unceremoniously pushed him off his lap the night before) and got up out of bed. After a quick shower, she got dressed in a pair of her favourite jeans, red and white peasant top and white cardigan. She put on a small amount of make-up (including her favourite lipstick) and her favourite perfume.

Once she was ready, she opened her bedroom door and was greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, bacon and eggs. She walked out into the kitchen and stopped in her tracks. The kitchen table had been cleared of all of Sherlock's lab equipment. In its place were two placemats and two steaming mugs of coffee. Sherlock was in the kitchen, putting the bacon and eggs onto two plates. He turned around and saw Molly standing there, mouth agape.

"Ahhh…. Good _morning, _Molly. How are you this fine day?" He gave her the brightest grin she had ever seen.

"Sherlock… what on earth?"

"I wanted to cook you breakfast. Is that not okay? A pathologist should always start the day with a hardy breakfast." With that, he walked over to the table and placed the plates onto the place mats, then proceeded to walk behind one of the chairs, pulled it out and motioned for Molly to take a seat. The huge smile was still on his face.

Molly walked over and took her seat. Sherlock pushed her in, then walked around to his seat and sat down.

Molly looked at the spread in front of her and was dazzled.

"Sherlock, you didn't have to do this. I thought we sorted everything out last night."

"Yes, we did. But I still feel a bit guilty, so I thought I would do something nice for you. Why? Don't you like it?" Sherlock gave off an air of annoyance. But, just something in his manner suggested something was off.

Molly could sense something was not right, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

That was until she looked around and noticed that her favourite vase was not sitting where it should be.

"Sherlock… where is my vase?"

"Which vase would that be?"

"The vase that should be sitting over there on that small table next to the television. Where is it?"

"Ah. THAT vase… well, you see… there may have been a bit of an accident last night whilst you were sleeping. I'm actually surprised you didn't come rushing out when it smashed…"

"_**WHAT?!**__"_

"Like I said, there was an accident…"

Molly was furious once more.

"I don't believe you Sherlock. I just… I can't..."

With that, she got up, grabbed her coat and made to leave.

Sherlock cried out to her. "What about breakfast?"

"SOD YOUR BLOODY BREAKFAST!" With that, she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Molly's shift at the morgue was hellish. There were three bodies she had to do autopsies on, one of which was a small child. There was a terrible car crash that claimed the lives of all three family members. She hated it when children were brought down to her. She was already upset thanks to Sherlock, and this just made her worse.

She heard her phone beep a few times, indicating that she had received texts, but she ignored it. She knew they would be from Sherlock, but she didn't want a bar of him at the moment. The vase he broke was one of her favourites because it was a family heirloom. It had been passed down from generation to generation. Her grandmother had given it to her before she passed away. She had loved her grandmother dearly and the vase was the only thing she had left that reminded Molly of her.

She stewed over it all day and was not looking forward to going home. But, finally, the time came for her to leave, so she took her time. She went to the grocery store, lingered around there for a while, then picked up some takeaway for dinner. Finally, she traversed home.

However, when she got there, her blood ran cold.

Her front door looked like it had been broken into. It was slightly ajar. Sherlock would not have left the front door like that.

She dropped the bags on the floor and slowly pushed the door open.

When she got inside it took all of her might not to scream.

Everything was a mess. There had clearly been a struggle – and a big one at that. Her kitchen table lay in splinters. Her small glass coffee table was smashed to pieces. Her picture frames on her wall were no longer there – they lay on the ground smashed.

But what did finally make Molly scream out in terror was the pool of blood that was on the floor and the marks that lead out the door.

Molly was almost certain that the blood belonged to Sherlock.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUN!**

Sorry to leave it right there, but you know. Cliffhangers. :D

I promise I am writing the next chapter right now. It's going to get kinda hair raising from here on in for the next couple of chapters.

But, there will be a pay off of the smutty kind so just... hold on!

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. It honestly is heart-warming and makes me want to continue even when I have moments where I go 'oh stuff it.' So thank you from the bottom of my (cold, COLD) heart.

And of course, thank you to my wonderful beta, Marilyn. :D


	6. Preparing

Molly didn't know what to do. Sherlock was gone. There was blood everywhere and everything in the flat was practically destroyed. It was obvious that Sherlock had put up a bloody good fight, but they had gotten him in the end. She didn't know if he was dead or alive—she didn't even know where to begin looking if he were alive. No. She couldn't think like that. Sherlock was still alive. There was a lot of blood on the floor, but not enough for him to be dead.

Molly knew she had to steady herself and her brain. So, she closed her eyes, took in a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm her nerves. She had to start thinking like Sherlock – this much she knew. So. Where to begin? Molly had no idea. She had never been with Sherlock to a crime scene, so she didn't even know where to being looking for clues.

But she did know someone who did.

It was something Molly was loathed to do. It meant risking everything. But, she was stuck. She needed to save Sherlock. So to do this, she had to resurrect him from the dead.

She grabbed the phone from her pocket and instantly remembered that she received texts earlier on that day – possibly from Sherlock. She quickly went through her messages.

_Molly, a vase is only a material possession. _

_There is no need to throw a tantrum and storm _

_out and ignore a perfectly cooked breakfast. _

_Grow up._

_-S._

_Molly, please don't ignore me. I'm trying to _

_make things right here. Also, Toby scratched _

_at me. Do not be surprised if you find him _

_hog tied underneath your bed when you get_

_home._

_-S._

'OH GOD! TOBY!' Molly looked frantically everywhere for her cat. She searched underneath her bed (which had been thrown about, much like everything else in her bedroom). There he was, but mercilessly not hog tied. He was however quite scared and was not willing to come out so easily. After a fair bit of coaxing, he finally crawled out. Molly picked him up and gave him a few quick kisses to his head, and held him close. She then looked at her phone again and kept on reading.

_Remember the soil sample? Focus on that._

_-S._

'_The soil sample! Of course!_' Molly thought. There were abnormalities in the soil sample she tested for Sherlock yesterday. There were high amounts of gunpowder and zinc. There were also high amounts of aluminium oxide. But what did that mean? Did it mean that she needed to look for areas that had high amounts of that stuff in the soil?

Suddenly, Molly had a brain wave.

'_Aluminium oxide…. that helps make up aluminium. For that, you would need an aluminium smelter._

_That's it! That's got to be it! Moriarty's men must be holding Sherlock at an abandoned aluminium smelter!_

_Right?_

_Oh God! I don't know!_'

Molly put Toby on the floor, then fell down next to him and put her face into her hands. Molly had never felt so hopeless in all of her life. She started to cry. Toby curled up beside her and started to purr.

What can she do? What were her options? Realistically, she only had one.

She had to get a hold of John. She had to get him to believe that Sherlock was alive, and then help her find him. Then, somehow, take on Moriarty's goons to get Sherlock back.

No big deal.

Molly knew the task was daunting and she had no idea how she was going to convince John. But, she remembered a promise that she made. She would help Sherlock no matter what the cost.

So, with a newly found resolve, she picked up her phone, and called John.

* * *

Half an hour later found John standing in the middle of her kitchen, his jaw hanging somewhere towards the floor. Molly had lured John there telling him that she had been broken into – which was not a lie. What she neglected to tell him was that there was a pool of blood on the floor that belonged to his best friend. Molly knew that if she called John sobbing and hysterical, he would come running. And true to form, he did.

As soon as he walked in the door, he was shocked and mortified.

"Molly… what… what on earth happened? Are you okay? Did they take anything?"

Molly was standing in the hallway, wringing her hands and biting her lower lip. How was she going to tell him?

"Ah… yeah… you could say that."

"What? What did they take?"

Molly knew this was the moment of truth. So, she took a deep breath, looked him dead in the eye and said just one word.

"Sherlock."

John looked at Molly like she had grown three heads. "Molly… Sherlock's…. Sherlock is dead." A brief look of pain swept across his face.

"Look. I know how it sounds. Believe me, if I were in your shoes I wouldn't believe me either, but see that pool of blood there? I'm certain it belongs to Sherlock. He's… he's been staying with me for the past few weeks while he's been trying to take down Moriarty's terrorist web. He and I… we faked his death. He needed to appear to be dead to the outside world in order to do what he needed to undercover."

John just stared at her wide eyed.

"He… he told you his plan?"

"Umm… yeah. He told me that I've always counted and that he's always trusted me. Then, he told me that he needed me. So, I helped him devise a way to fake his death so he could take down Moriarty's web."

John shook his head.

"That bloody bastard…. He never told me that he was going to get you in on his plan."

"Wait. _WHAT?"_

John threw his hands up. "Molly, I knew. Alright… I knew. I knew Sherlock didn't actually die. We came up with the idea that he needed to fake his death in order to deal with the web. I've been lying to everyone these past few months putting on the act of my life. I honestly didn't know he asked you for help."

"So… you've been lying to me this whole time. Yesterday... at the café. You…. You were inconsolable. Sherlock's funeral… you looked like you hadn't slept in days! You… you were lying to me?" Molly was a mixture of emotions. Hurt, worried, pissed off, stressed… you name it, she was feeling it.

"Molly, I'm… I'm sorry. I – "

Molly shook her head and raised her hand as if to silence him. "Look. We can deal with this later. And trust me, we WILL be dealing with this. But right now Sherlock needs us. He asked me to test some soil and some blood for him yesterday. There were high traces of gun powder and zinc. There were also some traces of aluminium oxide. I gave the results to Sherlock last night, but he didn't tell me what he found. He and I…. we had a fight this morning. He broke my grandmother's vase, and I stormed out. He sent me a couple of texts, but I ignored them. I even dawdled home, John." Molly's voice started to hitch. "I… was just so furious with him. Then when I came home, I found the place like this. After the initial shock wore off, I remembered that he sent me some texts so I checked them. One of the messages said '_Remember the soil sample? Focus on that.'_ So I came up with the theory that they may be holding him in an abandoned aluminium smelter due to the fact that aluminium smelters have a lot of aluminium oxide and zinc. Does that sound crazy? Because I don't know what else we have to go on."

John looked at her dumbfounded.

"Molly… that… that is brilliant! Have you checked to see if there are any old aluminium smelters around here?"

"No, not yet."

"Right, grab your laptop and coat and let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere that has free wifi. We need to find out if there are any abandoned smelters around here and I don't think you want to hang around here for too much longer, do you?"

Molly wasn't very keen on the idea of leaving her flat the way it was, or for Toby to be on his own, but Sherlock needed both her and John, so all of the cleaning and rebuilding her shattered apartment would have to wait.

With that, Molly grabbed her coat and followed John out the door.

* * *

Twenty minutes later found them at the local McDonald's. Once connected to the wifi there, they went straight onto a popular search engine and looked up any abandoned aluminium refineries or smelters around London.

There weren't any.

Molly and John were slightly panicked. That was until something caught Molly's eye. "Hang on… scroll back. Look! There!"

On the page was a link to an article about the closure of Alcan Lynemouth Aluminium Smelter. Both John and Molly gave each other a quick look, and then hastily clicked on the link.

John read out "It says that it closed in March this year and is located in… Northumberland! My Lord… they wouldn't have taken him all the way up there, would they?"

Molly looked thoughtful. "It's the only thing that matches the data that I got for Sherlock yesterday. Besides that, I just don't know." Molly had a sense of helplessness rush over her.

Suddenly, Molly's phone beeped, indicating a text. Molly grabbed at her phone, praying it was from Sherlock. It was from his phone, but the message was not.

_Well… well… well. Look at the two of you go. So_

_smarmy and clever. Didn't want to make it too hard_

_for you two to find him. Yes, he's here at Lynemouth._

_Come and get him._

_-SM._

"Oh God!" Molly cried.

"It's alright, Molly. It's obvious that they're tracking us. But we have to be extremely careful from here on in."

"Up for a trip?"

Molly took in a deep breath.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

John smiled at her. "Good. We'll have to swing by 221B to grab a few things then we can go."

"Wait… what if they're watching the place?"

John thought for a moment. "Hmmm…. Maybe I could get a hold of the Homeless Network. Get one of them to sneak in and get what we need."

"The Homeless Network?"

"Don't ask."

John went up to the counter and asked if he could borrow a pen and paper. He quickly scribbled something down, and then wrapped up a fifty pound note and a key from his keychain with the paper. He walked back to Molly.

"Right. You ready?"

"Wait… why did you do that?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Come on."

With that, they packed up their gear, hailed a cab and made for South Bank.

* * *

Once they reached their destination, John looked around to see if he could see anyone that might be able to help. After wandering around looking like gits, John came across someone that he recognised. It was the girl that was underneath the bridge that Sherlock gave the fifty pound note to; to help find The Golem for the Great Game case.

"Change? Any change?"

"I ahh… haven't got much. But here, have this."

"Thanks!"

John then turned around and started to walk off.

"Wait… what just happened? Do you just give her fifty pounds?"

"Yeah. You'll see why later."

Molly was completely perplexed. She had no idea how this would help them get the stuff that they would need from 221B Baker Street. But, not knowing what else to do, Molly went along with John's plan.

John led them both to a small café two blocks away and ordered them both a coffee.

"Here. Have this. You're going to need it if we're to make the trip up."

Molly took it obligingly and held it in her cold hands, hoping it would warm them up. Since they had a moment or two, Molly started going over the day's events. First, the fight with Sherlock and the mess with breakfast. Then, coming home from work and seeing her place practically destroyed and finding Sherlock gone with a pool of blood. Then, reaching out to John, knowing she was probably going to break his heart all over again, only finding out that John knew about Sherlock faking his death. Molly had to hand it to him, though. He put on the performance of his life. Much like her, really.

As soon as Molly had made that realisation, any anger she felt towards John slowly started to evaporate. They were both in the same boat. They were both doing what was asked of them to keep the man that they both care about safe.

John, sensing that Molly was going over everything, tried to break the silence.

"Molly, I'm sorry for not telling you about… well… you know."

"John… honestly? It's okay. Neither of us was to know that we were both helping him. If anything, after we save Sherlock, we should both take turns to wringing his bloody neck for putting us through all of this crap!"

John laughed heartily. Molly enjoyed seeing him like that. It definitely made a change from seeing him desperately sad and mourning his best friend.

"Yes, well, we need to save him first. How on earth are we going to do this?

"Should we ask Mycroft for help, do you think?"

"No. Sherlock would never forgive us if we did that. We're on our own."

"So. No pressure or anything…"

John snorted.

After about another half an hour of trying to come up with a plan, John saw the homeless girl walk down an alleyway not far from where they were.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Just follow me."

They both got up and, trying to act casual, walked down the alleyway to where the homeless girl was waiting on the other side of a dumpster.

"Spare change, sir?"

"Yeah, sure… what have you got for me?"

The homeless girl handed over a satchel.

"Thanks."

With that, they both John and Molly headed back out of the alley and hailed a cab. Once inside, John opened up the satchel and looked inside.

"Wow. It really works!"

"What does?"

"The Homeless Network."

"That was the Homeless Network?"

"Yeah. It's Sherlock's doing. Trust him to find a way of even getting the homeless of London to help him do his dirty work."

"So, what's in there?"

"Here. Have a look."

John handed the satchel over and Molly poked her head inside. Molly made an audible gasp. Inside were two Browning L9A1 , ammo – and a lot of it, and schematics for Lynemouth Smelter.

"Right. You do know I don't know how to use one of those, right?"

"Well, thankfully we have time on the way up for me to give you a quick lesson."

"How are we getting up there, anyway?"

"Well, we can hire a car and drive up."

"So that's why you tried to hype me up on caffeine before."

"Of course."

They both gave a tight smile to each other. Molly then turned and looked out the window, thinking about what fresh hell she and John were headed for. She knew, deep down, she would give herself body and soul to the Satan himself to make sure that Sherlock was alive and well, and she knew that John was of the same mindset. She didn't know how they were going to get through this, or if she was going to make it out alive. But she would do anything for Mr Sherlock Holmes, including risking her life for the man that she loved.

* * *

**So there you all go! Don't you just _love _some intensity? :D**

**So... I had an overwhelming response to my last chapter. Thank you to everyone who reviewed or are starting to follow my story. It's a labour of love and I can't wait for you all to read it.**

**I must admit... I haven't started on Chapter 7 yet. *dodges flying rotten fruit and vegetables* BUT... I do know how I want it to go. I've got the weekend to myself, so I will try and get it done and sent to my Beta as soon as I can. I'll try and update towards the end of next week. Come on... gotta keep the suspense building! :D**

**But honestly, thank you to each and every one of you for reading.**

**And, once again, thank you to my wonderful Beta, Marilyn. *sends her Sherlock and Anderson to her house wrapped up in nothing but two big red bow ties placed strategically... hehehehe***


	7. Into the Breach

After John and Molly had hired a four wheel drive, they set off for the long trip to Northumberland. John decided he would drive, for he had been this way before. They were under the cover of darkness, so they knew they might have some advantage.

For a time, neither of them spoke. Both of them were trapped in their own minds, thinking about what lay ahead of them. John was trying to think of battle tactics. How could they gain entrance into the facility? Did they have enough firepower and ammunition? Was Sherlock alright? Will he be able to help fight if need be when they rescued him? Molly on the other hand only cared about one thing - Sherlock's welfare. She didn't care if she were hurt or killed. All she cared about was getting Sherlock out of there and away from whoever this S.M. person was.

After about an hour or so of complete silence, John finally spoke.

"Do you…. do you know how to fire a gun?" he asked whilst looking over at her.

"Ahh… no. I've never even held one until tonight." Molly looked down at her hands. How on earth was she going to go and help Sherlock if she didn't even know how to use the only weapon at her disposal?

"Ah. Well, there is a side road just up head that leads into the forest. We'll take that road, stop, and I'll show you how to use one."

They came up to the side road, and disappeared up the track. They travelled about a kilometre into the woods, pulled up and hopped out. John went to the back seat, loaded one of the pistols, and then looked around to see what they could use for target practice. Thankfully, some hoon or hoons had been up this particular road before, as John was able to find three empty beer cans and two empty rum bottles. He set them up side by side on a log, manoeuvred the four wheel drive into position so they could use the headlights for light, got out, and walked back to Molly.

"Alright… see those cans and those bottles? That's what you are aiming for. Now, what you need to do, is to load the bullet into the chamber like so, then pull back on the hammer like this, then take off the safety. Once you've done that, take aim at one of the cans. Use both hands to help steady yourself. When you feel comfortable enough, gently squeeze the trigger."

Molly was petrified. She'd never done anything like this before, but it was a necessity. So, she did as she was shown. When she felt comfortable enough, she aimed at the far left can and gently squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out through the forest, scattering the nearby birds perched up in the trees. Molly didn't dare look to see if she had hit the can, as she had squeezed her eyes shut when she fired the gun.

"Are you okay? Are… are you sure you've never used a gun before?" John asked as he took the gun from Molly's shaking hands.

"Yeah… yeah I'm fine. And no I've never used one. Not ever. Why?"

"Take a look."

Molly looked over to where the far left can should be. It was nowhere to be seen. John saw where it had flown off to, so he walked over, picked it up and brought it back to show her. She had hit the can dead centre.

Molly was amazed, as was John.

Molly felt a surge of strength she had never felt before. She liked it.

"I… I know I'm pretty good at darts, but this? This is… wow. Can I try that again?" Molly had a smile so large on her face. She shouldn't be having this much fun, but she felt a rush of adrenaline flowing through her veins. It surged her on.

"Sure!" John was mighty impressed. He handed the gun back to Molly, loaded and ready to go. She took aim again, this time not closing her eyes when she squeezed the trigger. She fired at the remaining empty cans. The bottles blew apart with a satisfying smash. John walked over and collected the cans, brought them back and showed them to Molly. She had hit them all dead centre as well.

John looked at Molly in awe. "I don't think I actually need to teach you anything!" John then had a thought. "Have you ever thought of joining the army?"

"Ahh… no. Not my cup of tea, I'm afraid. Not that, not that I don't respect you for going over and fighting for our country or anything… I'm ahh… sorry." Molly started to blush. Now was not the time to lose her composure and revert back to Mousy Molly.

Thankfully, John saw the humour in what she said and laughed. "It's alright. It's a stupid bloody war anyway."

They both climbed back into the four wheel drive, turned around, and drove back out the way they came onto the road that would lead them to Lynemouth.

* * *

After finally reaching Lynemouth Smelter, they were hoping for some sort of camouflage to help them with the much needed element of surprise, but unfortunately there was nothing to help them. No trees for them to park the four wheel drive under, no building to hide behind. It was like a barren wasteland with a big refinery in the middle. So they parked the four wheel drive just outside the closed security gates, trying to use the building as camouflage. They got out of the four wheel drive, and armed themselves to the best of their ability. The pair moved to the side of the security building and tried to formulate a plan.

The smelter itself wasn't too dilapidated at all. According to their research, the plant only closed down in March this year, so it wasn't too bad. There were quite a few steam stacks coming out of a few buildings, but there was one building that seemed to loom over all the others. This is where they came to the conclusion that that was where Sherlock was being held. So, they started forming a plan of attack. That was, until Molly's phone rang.

Molly looked at the number. It wasn't one that she recognised, but she had a gut feeling she knew who it was. So, she answered it and put it on speaker so John could hear.

"Hello?"

"Well hello Doctor Hooper! So very glad you and John Watson could join us. Did you find the place alright? Wasn't too hard for ya?" The voice was dark, gravelly and obviously sarcastic. It also sounded like it came from the north.

Molly frowned. "Who is this?"

"What? Don't you know? I gave you a hint before you came up. What? You two couldn't be bothered to look me up? I'm insulted."

John turned his head, deep in thought. "I know that voice….."

"Oh look who's finally starting to come around! Come on, Johnny boy! Figure it out!"

John was delving deep inside his mind. He _knew _that voice! But from where?! Then, like a lightning bolt had struck him in the head, it hit him. He looked back at Molly with pure dread in his eyes.

"Sebastian. Colonel Sebastian Moran."

"Ten points to you, Captain Watson! How incredibly smart you are! I know Sherlock here has once said that you weren't all that bright, but I do believe sir that you are!"

Molly tensed up at the mention of Sherlock's name. "Sherlock… is he alright?"

"Oh he's fine, Doctor Hooper. A bit battered and bruised. He'd come to the phone, but he's ah… a bit tied up at the moment." Sebastian started to laugh. The kind of laugh that sent shivers up your spine.

Molly's resolve broke. "We are coming for him. Do you hear me you sick son of a bitch? WE WILL GET HIM THEN WE'LL KILL YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" John took the phone out of Molly's hands and tried to placate her.

"Ohhh my my _MY_ Doctor Hooper! You do seem to have a right temper! Why don't you come up here and show me some of that fighting spirit."

"Just tell us where to find you" John asked.

"Oh I thought it would be quite obvious. See that big building right in front of ya? We're on the top floor. Oh and don't worry. It's just us chickens. You don't really need to bring those guns with you, but if you must." With that, Sebastian terminated the call.

John pocketed the phone and then held Molly by her shoulders, trying to calm her.

"Look. You can't lose it now. I need you. Sherlock… needs you."

Molly took in a few deep breaths. "I'm good. I'm okay."

John took one last good look at Molly. Molly gave him a reassuring smile. She was ready for this. She could feel the adrenaline starting to pump in her veins again. Her stomach was in knots, but it was fuelling her on. She had a sense of strength coming from somewhere she knew not. All she knew was that this Sebastian Moran was clearly a nutcase.

As John and Molly started to make their way to the building that housed Sebastian and Sherlock, Molly grilled John on everything he knew about Sebastian Moran. She had read somewhere that you should always know the enemy and that knowledge is power.

"Right. Sebastian Moran. Colonel Sebastian Moran. Formerly of the First Bangalore Pioneers. Was dishonourably discharged due to being found guilty of inciting violence within his own regiment and was charged with shooting one of his fellow soldiers in the shoulder – apparently just for fun. He was one of the best marksmen the British Army had. It's probably why Moriarty had him as his second in command. That, and the fact they're both nutcases."

Molly was none too pleased with this information. "Oh great! Anything else I should know?"

"He is an excellent at hand to hand combat as well from what I remember." At this, John stopped dead in his tracks.

"Look, Molly… if you don't want to do this, say so now. I can take Moran on my own. I know his fighting style and I know how to handle him. If you want to wait by the car, I'll understand."

Molly could see that John was just trying to protect her. But, she was not going to let him do this on his own. No matter how scared she was.

"No. We're in this together. I don't know what Sherlock told you about me, but I _am_ strong – stronger than he may think. I know I can do this. I have to save him. I love him." Molly's eyes started to glisten with tears.

John looked down to the ground. "I know." He then gave her a small smile.

She wiped away the tears that were willing to fall and gave John a return smile.

With that, they marched on into the building.

* * *

True to Moran's word, there were no guards waiting for them. Nevertheless, both Molly and John were on their guard. They found an industrial elevator on the far side of the building. They guessed it would lead up to the top floor. They weren't disappointed.

When the doors opened, visibility was poor. The new morning light was streaming through the massive windows, casting shadows in the spaces where the windows didn't shine the light. They did however hear one booming voice.

"WELL… well… well. About TIME you two joined the party! Whadda say, Sherly?" They both heard a sickening thud, then a small whimper of pain which no doubt came from Sherlock. Both John and Molly had a look of pure anger on their faces. John slowly made his way to where the voice was coming from, with Molly walking slowly behind.

"Now. Did you two dispose of those guns that I saw? Hmm?"

John spoke up. "No. But we'll do it here." With that, he held up the pistol in his hands, indicating that he was giving it up, laid it on the floor and kicked it away. He then turned to Molly and gestured she do the same. She really didn't want to give up her only weapon, but she didn't seem to have a choice. She didn't kick it far though, just in case.

"Good! Very good! Well done, Captain. Wise choice. Now. What I would love for the two of you to tell me is why should I let Mr Holmes here go. What does he mean to the pair of ya?"

Molly's eyes had started to adjust to the lighting. Moran and Sherlock were in shadow, but she could start to see what was lurking there. She could see Moran was leaning against a table with his arms crossed, clearly amused with the situation at hand. Molly then cast around to see if she could see Sherlock. When she finally did lay her eyes on him, she gave a small yelp.

Sherlock was handcuffed with his hands held above his head. He was lifted off the ground and his head was bowed. Molly could tell he was badly bruised and had cuts all over his body. No doubt some bones would be broken as well. The only piece of clothing he had on was his underwear. Everything else had been stripped off him. He barely seemed conscious.

Molly was horrified. She started to move towards Sherlock, but was stopped by Moran. "Uh ahh, love. No touching. He's alright. Just a bit banged up. Aren't you, Sherly."

Sherlock slowly lifted his head to give Moran one of his patented death glares. He slowly lowered his head down, not before giving Molly what she thought was a very small smile. It was so miniscule she almost missed it, but she had seen it and it made her heart swell. He was still with them. He was in no fit state to fight once it came to that, but he was still there. His spirit hadn't been broken.

"Since neither of you are willing to go first, how's about I tell you a little story. It's about this poor soul named Jim. You know Jim, don't ya, love? You went out with him for a short while. Anyway, Jim was a lovely man. He came to me when I was at my lowest, took me in and made me a better man. Good ol' Jim…. He had a bit of a plan, he did. See, he wanted the world to know just how much of a fraud this here Sherlock Holmes was. So he went about creating this plan to show everyone what a crook he really was. But see, the plan didn't really go so well. See, poor ol' Jim took his life just to prove that this arsehole could drive any man to insanity. Jim was already insane, I'll grant ya that, but he was alright. Then, when all hope seemed to be lost, this git here jumped off the building! Pretended he was some sort of Superman! And he fooled everyone. Everyone thought he was dead. Except he wasn't, was he? And I believe that's all thanks to you, Doctor Hooper. So how did you do it, hey? How did you pull such a cunning move? Hmm? Nah. Don't tell me. I don't wanna know. I found out he's been shacked up with you these past few months, hasn't he? Found yourself a new boyfriend, hey?" Moran was shooting daggers at Molly. Whilst never looking away from her, Moran slowly walked over to where Sherlock was hanging. "Tell me, Doctor Hooper. Why should your boyfriend be allowed to live, while mine's dead? Hmm? **TELL ME!**"

Molly jumped as his voice ricochet off the walls and reverberated back. "I… I don't – "

"What? You don't know? Is that what you're trying to tell me?!"

John spoke up then. "Listen, Moriarty was a madman. You've just admitted as much. Is it sad that he took his own life? Depends on who you ask I suppose. But the fact remains. He was a bad man who killed innocent people all because of some sick… twisted game he wanted to play because he was obsessed with Sherlock. Why can't you see that?"

Moran's face grew dark within an instant. He walked up to John, barely inches away from his face, and grabbed John by his shirt. "WHY? BECAUSE I LOVED HIM, THAT'S WHY! DON'T YOU DARE STAND THERE AND TELL ME YOU WOULDN'T DO ANYTHING FOR THIS PIECE OF SHIT! BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT I'M DOING RIGHT NOW! I'M FINISHING THE JOB MY BOSS…. THE MAN I LOVED TRIED TO DO!"

Everything that happened next seemed to go in slow motion for Molly. John started to answer Moran back, but Moran had started to reach behind him to grab something. John started to raise his hands as if to try and talk Moran down, but he was having none of it. Moran grabbed the gun from behind him and pointed it at John with tears freely flowing down his face. He clocked his gun and was about to pull the trigger. A shot rang out throughout the warehouse.

Moran's face fell. Then his whole body slumped to the ground.

Molly's hand was shaking, but she still held the gun aloft. She wasn't completely sure that Moran was dead. She didn't dare look away.

John was in shock. He honestly thought that he had been shot. Again. He was waiting for the searing pain to set in, but it never did. Instead, what he saw was Moran fall to the ground. If Moran was the one on the floor, then the shot could've only come from one person. He slowly looked back at Molly and saw the gun still in Molly's hands. She was frozen to the spot and would not look away from Moran's lifeless body.

He slowly made his way over to Molly, not wanting to startle her while she still had a loaded gun in her hands. He tried to calm her, using soothing words, but Molly heard none of it. She was trapped in her own mind. She had just shot someone. She had shot them dead. She had never killed anything in her life. She may work with dead bodies for a living, but never had she ever imagined that she would be the one to cause death.

John slowly reached out and took the gun away from Molly. She barely registered that he'd done it. She looked at John and realised he was saying something. But it didn't matter. She looked at the body once more, and then she looked over at Sherlock.

Oh God. Sherlock!

That spurred her back into reality. She ran over to Sherlock to check to see if he was alright. She looked up at him to try and gauge how conscious he really was, and then looked around for anything that could help get him down. John had reached her by this stage and found the keys to Sherlock's restraints. Molly didn't really care where he found them, just as long as they got him down. They found a stool not far from where Sherlock was, so John grabbed it, stood on it, reached up and undid Sherlock's handcuffs.

Sherlock had barely any strength left. He fell like a sack of potatoes, but Molly was there to catch him. Once he was on the floor, Molly's doctoring skills kicked in and she checked him over. She checked his vital signs and how bad his cuts and bruises really were.

Sherlock turned his head slightly towards Molly and whispered to her "Thank you."

Molly gave him a small smile. John then leant down and looked at Sherlock. "You're a right git, you know that?"

Sherlock tried to give a small laugh, but it obviously pained him.

John grimaced. "Okay, let's see if we can get you out of here."

With that, John and Molly helped Sherlock to stand, but it was obvious he was in no fit state to just walk on out of there. So Molly lifted one arm, John the other and helped Sherlock out as best they could.

Once they had gotten outside, John left Molly and Sherlock leaning against the tall building while he ran back to get the four wheel drive. Once John had returned, they laid Sherlock out in the backseat. Molly hopped in with him allowing Sherlock to use her lap as a pillow. John got back into the car and they drove off.

Once they had left the smelter and were back on the main road, Molly spoke up. "We should find the nearest hospital."

Sherlock, with what little strength he had left, spoke up. "No."

John couldn't believe what he had just heard. "What? What do you mean no! You're practically on death's door, Sherlock! You need medical help!"

"I'll be fine. Just a few cuts and bruises. Possible fractured ribs. Just get me back to London."

It was Molly's turn to try and reason with Sherlock. "But that's three hours' drive away!"

Sherlock looked up into Molly's eyes. He didn't look at her with his usual hard glare, but with soft, sad eyes. "Just take me home." With that, he closed his eyes. Molly looked up and locked eyes with John's through the rear view mirror. John shook his head and started heading back to London.

Molly looked back down at Sherlock. He was clearly in pain, but with his eyes closed he looked slightly serene. Molly started to run one hand through his sweaty hair; the other held his left hand. Sherlock took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. Not long after, Sherlock was asleep. He wasn't unconscious, due to the fact he was gently snoring. Molly gave a small laugh at that. She continued her ministrations as she looked out the window, watching the scenery flash by as they drove back to London.

* * *

_**Hello all!**_

_**I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long to update. I've had so much going on in my life that this unfortunately had to take a backseat. I lost my job (again), went on holidays for a week, been extremely busy trying to find another job (and not being successful so far), and I also managed to write myself into a corner and couldn't figure out how to get out of it. But, I sat down last week and I was determined to finish it. Thankfully, inspiration struck and I was able to do just that. And to atone for my sin in not updating sooner, I purposefully made this chapter extra long. :)**_

_**This chapter is pretty much the crux of the idea that I had that started this little fanfiction. I wanted Molly to be the one to save Sherlock. The next couple of chapters are going to deal with the fallout of that and... other things. You'll just have to wait and see. :D **_

_**Also, I meant to point out at the end of the last chapter that the abandoned aluminium smelter in Lynemouth actually exists. It did close down in March 2012. I was hoping to find something like that a little bit closer to London, but unfortunately this was the closest. But it suited my purposes so it didn't take much to make John and Molly travel that little bit to get there.**_

_**Also, thanks to Wiki, I did some research on Moran. What I have of his background is what I was able to glean.**_

_**So, to wrap up, I vow here and now that the next chapter will not take as long to get to you. I have a brilliant idea for it and plan on writing it either tonight or tomorrow, since I'm currently sick with a bug and confined to my bed.**_

_**So, to my loyal readers, thank you ever so much for sticking with this. It truly means alot to me.**_

_**Also, my beta Marilyn is awesome. You should follow her on Tumblr: savetheheathenshilaryfaye.**_

_**Until next time!**_

_**X Lauren.**_


	8. The Fallout

The drive back to London was long and arduous. Sherlock kept on slipping in and out of consciousness, but not once did he move his hand from Molly's. Whilst Sherlock was out cold, she had a good look at his injuries that she could see. He definitely had at least one or two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, possible internal bleeding-it was a miracle that the man was still alive.

Just when they had reached the outskirts of London, John broke the silence.

"I've been thinking. We really can't take him to any hospital. I mean, the world at large still thinks he's dead. So you and I are going to have to take care of him ourselves."

Molly had been staring down at Sherlock's face. He looked like he was in pain, but he was currently unconscious. She looked up at the sound of John's voice. She hummed in agreement.

"I've been thinking the same thing, but John… I don't think he can go back to 221B just yet. We don't know if Sherlock has taken down Moriarty's entire network yet. I think just for now he's going to have to come back to mine."

John nodded, although his face seemed to suggest he was not particularly happy about the arrangement. John wanted Sherlock back, but he could see the logic in what Molly had said.

"You sure about this, though? You and I both know what he's like when he's cooped up for too long. Plus he's going to be in massive amounts of pain. He's going to be an even bigger git than before."

A groggy, baritone voice spoke up. "I resent that."

Both Molly and John laughed; it helped to break some of the tension. Molly looked down at Sherlock and stroked some of his wayward curls off his forehead. She softly spoke to him. "When did you wake up?"

Sherlock looked up into Molly's brown orbs. "Just long enough to hear you two whine about how much of a git I am." He gave a half smirk.

Molly smirked back. "If you weren't in so much pain right now, I'd slap you. You know, eavesdropping is considered rude."

John piped up "Look who you're talking to, Molly."

Molly gave a small laugh. "Good point." She then looked back down to Sherlock. "Get some rest. We're nearly there."

Molly was expecting Sherlock to put up some sort of fight. Instead, he closed his eyes and squeezed Molly's hand once more.

* * *

Once they had pulled up outside Molly's block of flats, they struggled with getting Sherlock inside. Even though he looked long and lanky, he was anything but. He felt like a dead weight, but he did try and manage to walk up the stairs. Molly wished that her apartment building had an elevator, but that would be asking for too much.

Once they had gotten up onto Molly's floor and somehow managed to get Sherlock into Molly's flat and into the spare bedroom, both doctors took to tending to his wounds. Molly went into her bathroom to grab the first aid kit. John went to the kitchen to boil some water and look around for some towels or anything else they might need.

When John joined Molly back in the spare room, he stopped short. He stared at all of the supplies Molly had. She had bandages, syringes, drugs, and plaster to set broken bones - even surgery tools.

Molly looked up and saw the look of shock on John's face and gave him a sheepish smile. "When you live with Sherlock, you never know what state he's going to come home in."

John gave a knowing smile at that. "Don't I know it."

From there, they both tended to Sherlock. They bandaged his ribs, set broken bones and dosed him up to the eyeballs with pain medication. Once they were done, they left Sherlock alone to sleep off the medication. They cleaned up their mess and sterilised the equipment they had used. Molly made them both a cup of coffee each and they both sat down in the lounge room, completely exhausted and shattered from the events over the last two days.

They sat in silence for quite a while, both trapped in their minds, reliving everything that had happened. Molly was sitting in her favourite armchair with her feet under her. She held the cup of coffee in her hands, but barely touched it. She was coming down from the adrenaline rush that she had been on ever since she got home the day before to find her home in such a mess. The flat still resembled a bomb site, but as far as she was concerned, the clean-up could wait a little while longer. Her body was exhausted from all of the exertion and lack of sleep, but her mind was racing. In her mind's eye, she kept on replaying the moment where she had shot Moran. It didn't feel like it was her that had squeezed the trigger. She had only realised that she was the one that had done it once John had come over and taken the gun out of her hands. But, now that she was home, it was all starting to hit her. She had taken someone's life. She had a gun in her hands. She fired a bullet and it had killed a man. Molly felt as if the walls were starting to close in on her. She couldn't get enough breath into her body. She started to tremble.

Suddenly, she heard a voice screaming her name and her shoulders being shaken. She came back to reality and looked up into John's face.

"MOLLY! Are you okay?! Are you alright? It's okay! It's over now… it's all going to be alright."

Molly was overwrought with anger. She pushed John out of the way and stood up and rounded on John.

"Alright? ALRIGHT?! No John! It's not alright! How can it be alright! I just took a man's life! I shot a man in cold blood! I… I… I" Molly couldn't finish. She felt like her world had just crumbled down around her. Her eyes were as big as saucers and tears were falling freely down her face. She still felt like she couldn't get enough breath in her no matter how hard she tried. All of a sudden she felt herself be pulled into a tight bear hug. John rubbed Molly's back whilst trying to placate her with soothing sounds. Molly just burst into tears and cried onto John's shoulder. She had never cried so hard in her entire life – not even when her father passed away. She felt all of the fight in her leave and hugged John back for all that she was worth. They both fell to the floor and John held onto Molly, soothing and cradling her until all that was left coming out of her was soft sobs. After a moment, John spoke.

"Molly… I've always believed that you were this mousy, quite person. I never would've suspected that you were capable of this type of strength. What you did… you did in self-defence. It was either him, or us. He was a psychopath. It's no wonder Moriarty had him as his second in command. You saved Sherlock. It was all you. Sherlock must've known that you had this in you; otherwise he wouldn't have put so much faith in you to not only help him fake his death, but to come after him and save him like you did. I'm not saying that you should be proud of what you did, but you do need to accept it. I'm an ex-soldier; I know how hard it can be to take someone's life. It's never easy. It's the biggest thing any human being can do to another. If I'm saying anything is, you're not alone in this. I'm here for you-and so is Sherlock in his own way."

Molly looked up at John with tears still in her eyes, but they weren't going to fall. She managed to squeak out a tiny 'thank you'.

With that, John pulled him and Molly to standing and guided Molly towards her bedroom.

"Now, I'm going to give you a sedative so you can get some sleep."

Molly started to protest. "But what about Sherlock? Someone's got to look after him…"

"With the amount of medication we gave him, he probably won't wake up until next Sunday. Don't worry about it. I'll stay and have a sleep on the sofa if need be. I'll look after you both."

Molly nodded at that. So she let John guide her into her bedroom and she lay down on her bed. John grabbed the medical supplies and dug around of the sedative and syringe that he needed. He then injected Molly's arm and sat with her until the effects of the drug took over and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Molly woke with a drowsy sort of feeling. She rubbed her eyes and looked over at her alarm clock. It seemed as if she got a good 12 hours sleep and considering the past few days, she certainly needed the rest. She stretched her aching muscles as best as she could, and got up out of bed. She grabbed her gown from her chair in the corner and proceeded to walk out of her room. She was about to turn and walk into the kitchen to make some coffee, but she heard voices coming from the spare room. She padded up to the door and was about to make her presence known when she heard Sherlock mention her name in a not so pleasant manner. She stopped short just before the door and leaned up against the wall. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she wanted to know why she was the topic of conversation.

"Sherlock, she is the one that saved your life, not me. You can't just ignore that fact!"

"I'm not ignoring the facts, John. I'm merely looking at them from another angle."

"She killed Moran to save your sorry life! " Molly heard John take a breath to try and steady himself. "You know why she did it, don't you? Why she came after you?"

Sherlock's voice became low and gruff. "Sentiment is a chemical defect, John. Whatever you are trying to insinuate, don't bother. I don't do feelings and I most certainly do not have any towards one Molly Hooper. "

Molly was shell-shocked. She didn't want to listen anymore, so she quickly turned and headed back into her bedroom. She closed the door as quietly as she could, and then sat on the side of her bed. Silent tears fell down her face. The rational side of her brain knew that Sherlock would never return her feelings, but to actually hear him say it out loud was crushing. She sat there, holding herself, letting the tears fall.

She had killed one of the most dangerous men in the UK – if not the world, to save Sherlock and he did not sound one bit thankful for it. It was typical of him. She didn't know why she expected anything different. Was she expecting his undying love and attention after this? A small part of her was saying yes, but that was only a very small part. She knew what Sherlock was really like. She was one of the few that could truly see him, so she should've known he would have put some form of wall up against her to shield himself from what was truly going on.

Molly became furious at this thought. She was mad at Sherlock, but she was mostly angry at herself for letting herself be played once again by the consulting detective. She knew that Sherlock was banking on herself and John finding him. She was played.

Molly wiped the tears away, got up and went to her closet to get changed. She then grabbed her bag and marched out of her room. She was about to head out the door when John appeared in Sherlock's doorway.

"Molly! You're awake! How did you sleep?"

"Fuck off, John." Molly didn't like swearing too often, but she was mad as hell and she didn't care who she directed that anger at. She opened the door and walked out, slamming it behind her.

John turned around and looked back at Sherlock.

"Do you think she heard us?"

Sherlock said nothing. He turned his head and looked impassive as he steepled his fingers underneath his chin, becoming deep in thought. John tried to decide whether it would be an idea to chase down Molly and try to explain, but thought better of it. She needed to calm down, so he walked into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea.

* * *

**I'm such a bitch. I'm sorry!**

**But as always, nothing is ever as what it seems. ;)**

**Thanks again to everyone who has commented and have marked this in their favourite folder. It honestly does mean a lot. It makes my heart swell whenever I see a comment liking this story. So thank you ever so much.**

**And as always, thank you to my wonderful beta, Marilyn. She is an amazing person and she deserves all the love in the world. :)**

**Also, I now have an AO3 account. So I'll be updating this story both here and there as well.**

**Merry Christmas!**


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